TEXT: Smudging the lines between Author and Audience

Please excuse the relative lateness of this blog entry: I am currently contending with some personal issues. Incidentally, discussing them here would surely make for a more interesting entry, but I don’t know that they directly relate to the study of religion…did I mention that humour is my favourite defense mechanism….?

Of all of the readings thus far examined, these chapters from Clark’s book promise to contribute most richly to my own research. My MA project is centered around textual analysis of the Ramayana, so the various issues and approaches discussed here are well worth considering whilst grappling with a text as complex and ancient as Sanskrit epic. I am not sure if the variety of theories from which to chose will aid or frustrate my research pursuit; I find myself suffering from the usual mental indigestion …Now, Where do I stand (at least today) on the idea of contextualism…? I am grateful for the qualification “at least today” since it seems that what I think and write about contextualism is itself context-dependent. I only hope that my mindset will not shift to the extent that I won’t be able to defend these views come Wednesday’s class….

I find Genette definition of “transtextuality…[where]…on the same parchment, one text can be superimposed upon another, which it does not quite conceal but allows to show through” quite apt for my research. Texts, for him, transform and/or imitate previous texts. He redefines this as “open structuralism” (132). This is exemplified throughout the receptive history of the Ramayana, particularly in the movement to theologize the text through the lens of Vaisnava devotion. How do I treat these ‘superimposition’? Are they removed from ‘the original’ text? Does there in fact exist an ‘authentic’ text whereby to measure all subsequent redactions, interpolations, interpretations, etc? I have tended in past to subscribe to the notion that all texts are supplements, merely filling out the ongoing cultural dialogue, perpetually alluding to and making reference to other texts, in a similar approach to Derrida who emphasizes the fact that never has there been written a text untouched by other texts (132). He challenges the notion of text as a finished, discreet complete work, positing, rather, that it is “a differential network, a fabric of traces referring endlessly to something other than itself, to other differential traces.” The Ramayana, throughout its vast hermeneutic history, exemplifies inexhaustible varieties of interpretation. Reading it seems, indeed cotributes to the process of composition. To what extent, then, is the reader actually the author of the text? To what extent may he partake in the authorship thereof?

In my opinion, there is much merit in deviating from a desire to uncover the actual, unified, harmonious, uncontestable meaning of a text. Meaning, is, after all subjective and in constant fluctuation. On this basis, I can sympathize with Roland Barthes view that “a text’s unity lies not in its origin but in its destination” (133). Does this imply that the author then possess no agency whatsoever in the composition of a text? This doesn’t somehow seem right to me, either, but in all honesty, I haven’t quite sorted it out. I am interested in what Foucault has to say on ‘authority’ of a text being somehow dependent upon the certainty of its ‘authorship’ in out culture. He puts into perspective just how culturally-specific our regard for authorship is. The reception of a text is inextricably linked to the reception of its author, i.e., its ‘textual proprietor’. This anxiety to ascertain and/or verify authorship seems drastically diminished in my own textual milieu. With respect to ancient South Asian texts, there is far less of an emphasis on the authorship. Numerous texts are of uncertain authorship, and further, several authors are of uncertain historical status. Regarding the Ramayana, for example, what do we know about legendary adi-kavi (first poet), Valmiki? Did such an author in fact, exist? Does the answer to this question colour all subsequent questions we bring to the text? What cultural presuppositions/inclinations do we reveal in inquiry after the author thus? In line of such questioning, I find Derrida’s encouragement for us to question why we read texts the way we do as quite refreshing. How could we refrain from identifying, or confessing, our own philosophijal and political assumptions that are institutionally sanctioned by our social context? In an attempt to resist the seductive appeal of textual ‘re-pristination’ (which I, too, regard as a futile endeavor), I see merit in exploring the Wirkungsgeschichte (“effective history”) of the text. I will never no what Valmiki intended, nor, even if Valmiki existed.

There is much in these reading to process, but I especially perplexed/intrigued by what Gadamer says about text. He seems to hold that language is intended to impart meaning, and that therefore texts are intended to be readable and understood without too much difficulty, but bifurcates his argument with a questionable distinction between written (literary) language and the spoken (auditory) variety. For him the process of writing necessarily constitutes a barricade, blinding the reader from the author’s intended meaning. I am not quite sure how the author vanishes once his thoughts are written rather than vocalized. Or maybe I am phrasing this incorrectly, it’s not as though he vanishes, but merely that he becomes invisible to us – he is still present, but we can’t see him. While one is engaged in text, one cannot easily grasp the meaning of the author. However, for Gadamer, spoken word possesses “sonority, melody, sound”, and therefore more readily presents its meaning to the listener. It is easier to access the ‘actual meaning’ intended while one hears, and accessibility lacking when one reads. I am not sure how to treat this bifurcation in my own work because I deal with an ancient text which was preserved orally for centuries. The verses of this epic poem were ‘heard’, not ‘read’ throughout the vast majority of their cultural reception and preservation. Furthermore the metrically consistent poetry of the Ramayana was intended to be performed – sung, chanted, enacted, etc. So, does the intrinsic ‘sonority’ of this ‘text’ bridge the remoteness between authorship and readership (i.e., listener-ship) to the extent that one, while witnessing its performance, may be granted access to ‘the intent of the author’?

I operate like a pendulum on these issues, because even though I believe that the distinction between interpretation and authorship is fine-to-nonexistent, Clearly Skinner has a point in asserting that texts do not come about of their own volition. Individuals conceive of and articulate ideas, and these ideas are embedded in texts. He challenges the Derridean bifurcation of writing and speech on the bases that he studies dialogues, which is essentially speech captured in writing. He is in a similar boat I think. The third aspect of his argument is applicable to my own pursuit. Skinner appeals to the author’s intention, insofar as it may be identified as in support of their objective. The ‘meaning’ of a text may be various, as subsequent meanings may be later introduced or identified, but Skinner aims to uncover the ‘original’ intention of the statements put forth. I suppose the key here is that ‘the intention’ is not ambiguous. For example, Nagesha Bhatta, a Srivaisnava commentator on the Ramayana rereads its ‘kernal’ verse (where Valmiki curses the hunter) as a praise to Vishnu. His reinterpretation relies heavily upon phonetic and linguistic gymnastics – to simplify, he breaks up the compounds differently, and employs homonyms. The result is nothing short of brilliant, but it is ‘an accurate’ interpretation. Despite my acknowledgement of the reciprocity between interpretation and text, I can’t help but regard this devotion-based reinterpretation as contrary to the original intent of the verse. It does not fit with the verse which come immediately prior, not with what comes afterwards, not is it remotely supported in the context of the rest of the epic. There certainly seems to be no ‘intention’ to praise Vishnu in Valmiki’s curse (which is central to both the ‘emotional flavour’ of the epic along with the epic’s basic plot), and so I can see the merit of Skinner’s emphasis on intention as a standard of interpretational merit. However, where the ‘intent’ is unclear, how do we proceed? I suppose I need to adopt an approach that best befits my subject matter, and adhere to it faithfully for the duration of the project.